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Aug. 10th, 2011

Spent sixteen hours today writing a proposal instead of writing a chapter. It wasn't even a romantic proposal. In fact, it wasn't even a proposal. It's the paper equivalent of a steel-toed boot in the door.

But I meant to be writing that chapter. My subconscious is disgusted with me, and my knee is telling me that if I don't stop sitting, it's going to thrombose. I'm so tired I'm actually hallucinating depth in this computer screen. Like I could just reach in and run my finger along the form highlights, smell the moss that's my desktop image.